Haiti Experience by George Silowash I visited Haiti from June 6th through June 13th as part of a “Reverse Mission” led by Dr. Richard Gosser, and his wife, Daneen for “Partners in Progress” (PIP).  My “mission” was to support my brother, Brian, on a survey for a water project, in the mountainous village of Fondwa. My brother knew Dr. Gosser from his college days, as he had taken several mathematics courses from him at St. Vincent College. Upon finding out that my brother was involved in piping and pump design and layout, Dr. Gosser had begun exploring the possibilities of getting him involved in this project that he was trying to start in Fondwa. Brian mentioned the possibility of going to Haiti to me last year, and I thought that it might be interesting to go along, to see what I could do to support him. Since I had met Fr. Antoine several times during his visits here, I also thought that it might be interesting to see if I could get an opportunity to visit him in Haiti, at St. John Baptiste. But for the longest time, these thoughts remained “abstractions”, and the reality that it really might solidify did not start to become apparent until I got my inoculations in March.  Still, June 6th seemed to be a long way off. Several weeks before I left, I approached Steve and Bill Lane at True Value Hardware for a donation of tools.  Bill goes to St. Barbara’s and he told me I could have anything I wanted. I suggested a few items such as twine, duct tape, hand tools, plumbing supplies, screen and various other things.  They packed all of these things and more in a 5 gallon plastic bucket and it became a part of my checked baggage. As the day of departure approached, there had been news of violence in the marketplace in the city of Port au Prince.  There were fires, and some people were killed. I had a certain level of anxiety that I managed to shield from my family.  June 6th came, and my brother, Dr. Gosser, his wife Daneen, Dr. Walter Bechtell, a local dentist, a young couple, Nick Wilson and Nicole Gebadlo and I went off to Haiti.  Nick is working with Dr. Gosser in PIP, and his girlfriend, Nicole came along for the experience. As we approached Port au Prince from the air, it did not look too bad. But at a distance, the details do not stand out. As we made our landing, I could not help but ask myself, “What did I get myself in to?”  The city is a surreal place.  The airport had a very strong UN presence…soldiers with full automatic weapons just about everywhere outside the terminal building.  There are so many contradictory things, so many things that do not make sense, that it made me wonder if perhaps I had not fallen into some sort of dream state, some sort of nightmare.  The streets were littered with filth, animals running freely including pigs, roosters, chickens, and dogs. We even encountered a man driving a herd of cattle up a main street during one of our adventures.   The city has no infrastructure. There are some storm drains, but they are backed up and waste water runs down the streets. Manhole covers and grates are missing, leaving gaping holes in what passes for a road surface. And yet, in the middle of the city is a palace that is used by the executive branch of the government. Go a few more blocks, and you can find a Volvo dealership, and go in a different direction for a few blocks, and you can buy a new Porsche.  Did I mention that it did not make sense? The Palace in Port au Prince As the multitudes of people walked down the filth strewn streets, I was impressed at how well they were dressed, how clean their clothes were!  They take pride in the way they look, the way they carry themselves, their “presence”. They all were willing (actually more than willing) to return a smile or a wave as we passed them in the streets in our vehicle during our travels. The traffic in Port au Prince is like driving in a demolition derby, only with more vehicles coming from more random directions. In spite of the many close calls, both witnessed and those in which we could have been the unwilling participants, there did not appear to be any road rage, any exchanges of “sign” language or verbal abuse.  The drivers just blew horns and kept going. The horn, next to the brakes, seemed to be the most important part of the car. It was used before approaching blind turns to warn anyone coming the other way to stay in his own lane, it was used in passing other vehicles, it was used to warn pedestrians and urge them to move quickly, and it was used just to intimidate to try to get other vehicles to move out of the way. Narrow, two lane “roads” can become three or four lane roads, sidewalks becoming somewhat elevated road surfaces at the whims of the drivers. Brakes were secondary, but very much appreciated on the windy, twisty narrow mountainous roads near Fondwa. As we dined on Monday night, one of the staff at Hospice St. Jozef, where we were staying in Port au Prince, a young Haitian man proudly announced that he just got his driver’s license, and showed it to some of us.  You need a license to drive here?!  Did I mention that some things did not make sense? On Tuesday, June 7th, we found our way to St. Louis Marie de Montfort. (Dr. Bechtell stayed at the hospice for several days to provide dental care for some of the people in the neighborhood).  A man named Father Nicholas is the pastor there.  His father was a shoemaker by trade, and Father Nicholas is teaching this craft to some of the villagers there.  He also runs a school with the help of two nuns, Sisters Eileen and Helen.  Sister Eileen provides a meal for about 70 small children there five days a week.  We walked through some of the “streets” of his parish.  They were garbage strewn, muddy, and very narrow.  We passed many people along the way, each with a smile, and or a handshake and a willingness to talk. Since I speak no Creole, I had to rely on Dr. Gosser for his help if I felt it necessary to try to communicate with them. Father Nicholas’ Parish Sister Helen, Father Nicholas and Sister Eileen A Street Scene in Father Nicholas’ Parish Wednesday found us on our way to Father Antoine’s parish in Montrouis, St, Jean Baptiste.  Father Antoine is a very gracious host. He spent quite a bit of time talking to Dr. Gosser about his situation there, and he took us on a tour of his school.  There were several buildings on the school grounds that were about a mile or so from his church.  They were located on a rocky hill and consisted of cement or block buildings covered with corrugated steel roofs.  The children were spotlessly attired in uniforms and we were greeted with songs in every classroom we visited.  The teachers were very proud of their students, and justifiably so.  The kids were adorable. School and Schoolyard at Father Antoine’s Parish We returned to Father Antoine’s rectory where lunch, consisting of rice and shrimp, salad, chicken, goat, soup, and scalloped potatoes were served.  The presentation of the meal was exquisite, worthy of any cook book pictorial.  I was amazed at the talent of those who prepared it, considering the means available to them for doing this sort of thing. He presented the people of St. Barbara a picture of St. John the Baptist. I then presented Father Antoine with the tools from True Value. He was very happy to have received this gift. Dr. Gosser managed to set me up with Father Antoine, telling him that I would host him when he visited our parish the next time. I am pretty sure he was kidding. (Note to self….learn Creole in the event that you visit Haiti again….probably a moot point).  Father Antoine with Picture of St. John the Baptist Father Antoine and the Tools from True Value Upon saying our goodbyes, we headed off to a chapel that is part of Father Antoine’s parish. There are six of these chapels and he visits two of them per month. After about an hour of riding along an almost impassable road in a very rural area, we came upon a simple “pole” building walled and roofed in woven palm leaves. The pulpit consisted of a welded podium supported by a tire and rim. A banana tree grew inside. There were some primitive chairs.  As we went to leave, a local family proceeded to cut some coconuts and opened them to offer us the milk.  Haitian hospitality. One of Father Antoine’s 6 Chapels Thursday found us heading for Fondwa.  At last we were going to do the job that we came here to do!  The trip to Fondwa took about two hours.  Fondwa is a village high in the mountains. The slopes are steep, and the people farm it by tying themselves off to trees or rocks and lowering themselves down the slopes to work the ground.  There were a lot of crops growing there, corn, peas, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and mangoes were some of the main crops grown. People were very busy hoeing the soil and mounding it for planting.  These were hard working people. A lot of the women and children were visiting a spring to catch water in buckets for carrying to their homes.  My brother and I were there to survey the land. He wants to figure out the best kind of pipe, and the best type of pump to pump the water from the spring up to a community center restaurant for use by the villagers. I took my GPS and a laser range finder to get the elevations, distances, and coordinates.  It took us about ½ day to do this work.   As we were performing the survey, I asked my brother if he realized that today would have been our Dad’s 83rd birthday. I told him that I felt good about what we were doing, and since our Dad was a generous, “give you the shirt off his back”, kind of guy, I felt that our Dad would have been proud of us (although I am sure he would have questioned our sanity) for what we were doing.  We were supposed to spend the night at a clinic in Fondwa, but the rain had made the road very dangerous, so we headed back to the hospice. Fondwa Farm Area Fondwa Farmer Pauses for a Picture On Friday, my brother and I found ourselves suffering from intestinal disorders, and we chose to stay at the hospice and do some maintenance work while some of the others traveled.   We repaired a couple of toilets, fixed a screen and a window, repaired a door frame, and assembled and installed a couple of electric fans. Repairing a Screen Dr. Walt Bechtell and My Brother Brian working on a toilet On Saturday, we visited a hospital run by Father Rick Frechette. He is a priest who decided to go to medical school when he was in his 40’s when one of the children he knew died as he stood by helplessly.  He is a very energetic man and we only shook his hand as he was leaving to visit a clinic.  A Sister Kathy gave us a tour of the facility.  It treats mostly children having AIDS and tuberculosis.  She showed us the door to a morgue that they had installed, and explained that they had lost a child to tuberculosis that morning, shortly before we arrived. She went on to explain that in Haiti, if you cannot afford a funeral and a burial, they take your body on a boat out to sea and throw it overboard. She told us that Father Rick does not want the children that die to be disposed of in that manner, and he is looking into propane fired crematoriums that could be used for the purpose of cremating their remains. Father Rick boasts that he is the unwed Father of many children. You see, when a child is abandoned at his hospital, the staff names it with a first name, and they give it his surname.   Father Rick is a man on a mission, a man of great faith.  When we left the hospital, we attempted to reach an orphanage near the top of a mountain, but it had rained, making the road impassable.  We turned around and visited a Baptist mission and museum that was on site.  The museum, closed since it was Saturday, was opened by a guard armed with a sawed off shotgun.  We saw a lot of people carrying this type of weapon, which seemed to be the weapon of choice. On the way back, we stopped at a restaurant in Port au Prince. It was an Italian restaurant run by an Italian couple and we got genuine Italian pizza with genuine German beer. An oasis in the middle of a desert!  Did I mention that Haiti is surreal? On Sunday, we went to Mass at St. Louis Marie de Montfort. The people were exceptionally dressed, in spite of the fact that it had rained Saturday night and the streets were exceptionally bad. The Mass was in Creole of course, but many of the songs were familiar, in spite of the language barrier. The people sang with enthusiasm and I am sure that every verse was covered in each song that they sang. We left Mass and had to take Dr. Walt to the airport.  His “freedom bird” (a term that he had carried over from his service in Vietnam) was taking off later that morning.  We spent the rest of the day at the hospice, packing and getting ready for our “freedom bird” on Monday. Mass at St. Louis Marie de Montfort The Hospice is run by two women, Dawn (last name unknown) from Florida, and Sister Kathy Wright (different from the Sister Kathy at the hospital).  Sister Kathy had arrived on Friday night. Dawn was leaving on Monday for the states with us as she was coming back for vacation, and training.  I was impressed by the dedication of both of these women. They are assisted by a staff of about 6 or 7 Haitian people who prepare meals and help with other duties.  The staff does not stay at the hospital, but live in the neighborhood.  One of the women had her two children with her, a small boy, a toddler, and a girl that I took to be around 6 years old. She was a very pretty little girl, but she had a horrible vascular tumor on her left eye that caused it to be distorted, stretching her eyelid down over it, and making the eye useless.  They said that they were looking in to getting it treated either via surgery, or through some sort of chemical treatment.  In any event, I am sure that she will lose her eye.  The little girl worked beside her mother helping her wash dishes, and inspecting each one as she rinsed it to make sure it was clean. The water at the hospice is undrinkable. They bring in bottled water for their use. The dishes are washed and rinsed in chlorox water. When you take a shower, you have to be careful not to get any of the water into your nose or mouth.  When you wash your hands, you have to dry them and use “Purell” on them to disinfect. You disinfect your hands after shaking hands with anyone, and obviously before you eat. I was using isopropyl alcohol in addition to the “Purell”. While we were there, we met Father Jim Griffin.  He knows Monsignor Fitzmaurice, and I think he said he roomed with the Monsignor’s brother. Father Jim offered Mass (in his street clothes) one morning. I kidded him, telling him that I had hoped that he would wear all of the vestments, thus keeping the homily short (it was about 90 degrees).  He laughed about that, but kept his homily short anyway.  He was a very nice guy. I spent a great deal of time talking to him as we had several friends in common.   A pathologist, Dr. Rosemary Edwards, from Gibsonia arrived on Wednesday night. She is on the Board of Directors of PIP.  She provided the Cipro that allowed us to “break the chain” and resume our travels. We also met a Haitian gentleman named George Werleigh. His wife was a prime minister under Aristide, and she left when he was ousted. Her husband chose to stay as an “observer” and he painted a very grim picture of Haiti’s future. We slept in small rooms on simple mattresses and box springs.  The shower provided cold water at very low pressure.  The water had a distinctive odor to it.  The room was screened in, keeping out the bugs, but not the sounds of roosters crowing at all hours, the unending chorus of dogs howling, street noises, and the sounds of random gunfire that were heard many nights. While I was there, I have to admit that I had a hard time praying. I think of myself a spiritual person, but somehow, I could not find the energy to put my heart into prayer. I felt that God was not there, that He was very far away.  I felt that Haiti could swallow you up, and spit you out, and no one would ever know you were there. I thought about the poor who could not afford funerals, and how their lives would pass unnoticed.  There would be no prayers, no service, no memorial, no obituary, no eulogy.  Nothing.  I found myself praying one night, asking God to give me the grace to change my mind, my view of things. A miracle occurs when you change your mind.  I prayed for several nights, trying to make sense of that which cannot make sense. Acceptance…..it is what it is……..the miracle. The most peculiar thing happened on Saturday night.  It was raining and I was reading on the porch of the hospice. I heard someone clapping their hands.  I looked up and a young girl was standing on the roof of an adjacent building.  She was smiling at me. I waved and she waved back.  Then she started dancing in the rain. I retrieved my camera. I took a candid picture of her, and she caught me. She smiled and shook her finger at me, teasingly chastising me for taking her picture. Then she started to pose for more pictures!  She brought a small child, a boy about two years old up on the roof with her, and they both posed as I took more pictures. I got the biggest kick out of her. She brought a bit of sunshine to me. And I thought of how it must be to be happy when everything around you is so desperate.  The miracle.  I remember telling a priest in confession that sometimes when I feel close to God, He seems to move further away from me.  Maybe God was closer than I thought.  My faith is weak. The Girl on the Roof We returned to Miami on Monday, June 13th. We had about 5 hours to kill between flights, and so my brother and I looked at each other and said, “South Beach!” We hailed a cab (driven by a Haitian) and spent about three hours eating real hamburgers, drinking beer, and walking along the beach.  It was exactly what we needed to decompress.  We hailed a cab (driven by a Haitian,….a different one) and headed back to the airport.  This man was very passionate about his country. He said that the Haitians need to develop a vision so that they can work to clean the country up. He felt that this would attract tourists.  He felt that the government was corrupt, and were unwilling to take necessary actions against Haitian gangs that seem to be forming.  He is right.  But it is so hard to develop a vision about the future when you are living day to day.  It is not impossible, as these people do seem to have a strong work ethic. It will take the right person, or group of people, many years to accomplish this. Would I go back to Haiti?  No. I could not go back under the conditions that exist there today. Do I regret going? No.  It gave me a great appreciation for what I have…for what we as Americans have.  God has been very good to me, as well as to our nation.  I met a lot of great people, both at the hospice, as well as in the persona of Father Nicholas, Father Antoine, Father Jim Griffin, Father Rick, Sisters Helen and Eileen, Sisters Kathy (both of them) and the many other people that I encountered.   I pray that the nation somehow can come together without violent revolution, that the greed of the people in power is somehow transformed to love so that they can help the poor and oppressed.  I pray that Haiti can survive.